


SSL

by rara_avis



Series: Fitter Happier (DBH Shorts) [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bar Brawling, Consent is Sexy, Cunnilingus, Drank!, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Millennial Nostalgia, Post-Game(s), Saying Fuck Every Other Word, Semi-Public Sex, Street Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 15:44:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16021004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rara_avis/pseuds/rara_avis
Summary: After the revolution, Connor and Markus are pretty busy with being the faces of androidkind. It leaves their troublemaking partners plenty of time to get to know each other.No mentions of other pairings so everyone can enjoy this one. ;)





	SSL

**Author's Note:**

> The very rare North/Hank, which I'd been thinking about for a while, but decided to fill for a prompt on the DBH_KinkMeme. Their only caveat with the prompt is no non-con, so I decided to go for sexy, fighty fluff!
> 
> **Trigger Warning: There's talk of North's past as a Traci, so it does discuss consent issues!**
> 
>  
> 
> **This work was originally posted under another username.**

After the revolution, Connor finds himself a new part-time job: being part of Markus Manfred's PR posse. He's there in negotiations all the time lately, being a hardass when Markus is a little _too_ soft.

Hank won't lie: he misses the kid by his side when he's not at the station. But there _is_ a bonus in being close to the Android Savior's new bestie. When Connor and Markus hang out to discuss world-changing new proposals for androidkind, Hank gets to spend time with the Android Savior's second-in-command, North. They'd gotten along well right from the start, similar attitudes towards socking assholes in the face and bucking authority.

"Thank fuck for that kid of yours," North had said when she'd seen Connor at work the first time. "I got replaced because I almost punched the vice president."

Hank had only been half-listening at the time, watching Connor whisper in Markus's ear during a particularly tense moment, like two kids playing Telephone.

"Of what?" he'd asked, "Cyberlife?"

North had grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "The United States of America."

So, yeah, she's _definitely_ the kind of woman Hank enjoys making friends with. North is fire and full of purpose, wrapped in bioplastic and passion. Apparently, Markus had a hell of a time trying to keep her from blowing Detroit up more than once. Which is a little scary, yeah. But also, he respects her for it.

And because Hank respects her, he _also_ doesn't want North to, you know, get the wrong idea about his intentions. He's a human male and she used to be programmed to fuck humans without consent and that's not particularly sexy to Hank in the slightest.

Hank figures if he'd been even ten years younger he'd _still_ feel uncomfortable making eyes at any woman that looked her age, android or no. As it stands, he feels way too much like a creepy old man when he notices that she's a bombshell. Besides, they're friends, and the last thing he wants to get caught making eyes at her. He'd punched enough Nice Guys in his past to know how important it is to not be an asshole to a lady you're close to.

 _You can't help but fall for a woman like that_ , Hank had assured himself, and went about his business as usual.

Connor and Markus spend most of their time at fancy restaurants courting important humans dignitaries and foreign androids alike. After they're let free of settling in to whatever hotel they're all staying at, their partners go to bars. Plenty now serve androids because they know where the money is. Sure, the only thing they can really offer right now is various droughts of Thirium-Mineral mixes, but it's better than nothing. It's the social experience that the 'droids want right now.

They're at a nice place for the evening instead of a total dive. "Nice" means mostly clean, at least two big-screen TVs, one of those electronic gambling machines, and baskets of hot fries. There's no smoking and there's good tequila. For once, Hank feels like he fits in at a places like this. He's got a new haircut -- which is admittedly just a neat trim and half of it yanked back so he looks like a fantasy video game hero -- and he's started dressing an edge more fashionably. For him that's solid colors for his button-ups and contrast t-shirts underneath.

Tonight he's got an open purple shirt and a off-white _NAZI PUNKS FXXX OFF_ shirt from the 'teens. Hank's lost enough weight to wear it again, which makes him feel good. All that cutting down on that Chicken Feed and letting Connor bully him into exercising and salads has paid off. He's never going to lose the gut but who cares, he's a cop. That's kind of part of the uniform.

North looks incredible in anything she wears, Hank doesn't have to be a creep to appreciate that. She's a magnet for the eye and it's not her build or her initial programming as a WR400. It's because she exudes confidence. She's lucky that she isn't Connor or Markus with their unique facial builds because she'd be fucking mobbed with paps chasing her down for interviews. Tonight, all eyes are on her anyway, her and her hip outfit: some classic black skinny jeans and red boots to her knees and a _THE PIRATE COVE: THE NEW WAVE 2039_ commemorative shirt in heather blue. Her hair is currently darker than she usually wears it, pulled up on her head in one of those messy buns that leaves a lot of strands falling down in that European effortless fashion way. Her makeup is nice and dark, and as one would say in the 'teens, _on point_.

"I wonder if our side will figure out how to make blue beer," North says, while kicking her feet on the bar stool. She looked at her Thirium drink, which was foamed at the top to simulate the "texture" of beer with a bit of soda water in it and some heavy minerals. "You know, stuff to get drunk on. I'm sure they can add some of that organic software to activate something in our system."

"Sounds dangerous," Hank says. He's drinking beer, too, because they're going to need to pick up the boys at some point.  Hank wants to be behind the wheel of North's state-of-the-line Argot SE and he doesn’t want to be smashed to do it. Connor will make those damn puppy eyes if he shows up that way. He’s also never asked where North had got the money to get that fancy car since federal reparations haven't gone through for android backpay and won't for a few years. But if there's something North's _not_ , it's a narc, and Hank's still a cop. She tolerates it though.

"I mean, we've got a lot of historical bullshit to catch up on,” North continues. "Beer's one of the first things that marks civilization, isn't it?"

“I mean, that’s what they say,” Hank says, grinning over his beer and taking another sip. “Android IPAs, shit. Think of those names.”

“IPAs?” North’s nose wrinkles. “Explain, Anderson, don’t make me Wiki it.”

“Fancy stupid fucking beers that taste just like any beer in their class,” Hank says, momentarily glad that Wikipedia still exists in some form. It going down would be a real testament to how fucking old he was. “They have weird-ass names, and I’m just wondering what the hell Androids would call theirs. Stuff that’re puns, or old jokes and catchphrases. Like YOLO, Tramp Stamp. Pathological Lager, a couple with the words "bitch" and "fuck" in them. I saw one called "Ghost in the Machine" ages back. Lots of fancy domestic labels have really art names or ones that just don’t fucking make sense.”

“So basically,” North says, swirling her pint of Thirium, “we just need to ask Markus and Josh for the arty ones, and Simon to install some sort of protocol in Connor to generate the weird in-joke ones.”

“Didn’t Josh fucking _teach_ a course on Internet Communication Shorthand, though?” Hank asks. “He gets all my stupid references.”

“He’s all about late-teens, early-twenties surrealism,” North says, knocking back the rest of her drink with a smack. “The more abstract the better.”

“Ohhh, Jesus,” Hank says, tossing his head back briefly with a laugh. “I remember that shit.”

North modifies her voice to _almost_ sound like Josh: “‘Well, ah, you see, you know, the idea of the meme has always been around, of course, but with the real-time public focus of old social media platforms, ah, such as Twitter and Tumblr, with both text and graphics being available, well, it’s more than just a little Impact font and, uh, later on that became a joke in and of itself, the old medium of, uh, meme over the newer ones. Please turn to ‘Bottom Text’ in your PDF --’”

Halfway through her spiel, Hank just starts choking on his own spit. “Holy shit, Nor, stop it, I’m gonna fucking die.”

“Oh, no, shit, don’t,” North says, laughing too, waving her hands in his face. She’s turned a bit blue at the cheeks. “Connor will never forgive me. We’d have to keep him if you croak!”

“Great, do me a favor,” Hank grins.

Their laughter is cut short when someone, too close for comfort, slurs from behind them: “Heyyy, baby, you wanna change of scenery?”

Both Hank and North drop their expressions, then roll their eyes at the same time, like they were programmed to be in sync.

“And we were having such a good time,” North mutters.

“Hey, ‘m talking to you,” the man repeats.

Hank claps his hands at the bar table, turns, and grins his best coquettish in the man’s direction.

“Hey yourself, hotstuff,” Hank says, in his most deep bottom-of-the-barrel drawl. This has always been his favorite misdirection. “Wanna buy me a drink first?”

The man, some weaselly tattooed fuck, turns so red a vein pops out of his forehead. His buddy, a slightly shorter weaselly fuck, barks laughing.

“I was talking to the fuckin Traci,” the taller man spits.

“Yeah,” his shorter pal says, “we wanted to ask how much?”

At his shoulder, North stills with machine-like quickness. Nothing about her looks or demeanor say she’s an android. Unless—

Her face mold had been pretty popular with fetishists and it was used almost exclusively with the Intimate Partners line, which makes him boil with brief, old-buried anger.

Hank gets ready to deflect this shit again, lie to cover everything up, when North blows her cover.

“Sorry,” North growls, adding some inhuman static to her voice, “not for sale.”

“Don’t you need money now?” the short fuck leers. “Better alternative than this fat asshole, right? He won't give you a good time. C’mon, baby.”

The tall one doesn’t wait for a reply to to that. He grabs North’s arm. "Fuckin' androids think they can just turn their noses up at --"

She wretches it away in one smooth motion. “Don’t you _fucking_ touch me!”

“The lady's asked you to fuck off, already,” Hank says. He doesn’t like the vague panic in North’s voice, because that's just not _her_. He also doesn't want to pull out his badge if he doesn't have to. “She interested in your microdicks, my dudes."

The tall guy crowds behind them. "And what's an old fucker like you going to do, huh?"

Hank stands up.

These sons of bitches hadn’t guessed at how big Hank is. How tall and wide and completely unimpressed with them he is. Those gym visits have paid off in dividends on his arms, too. He chucks a thumb at the front door and they both stare at his forearms wide-eyed.

“How about let’s talk somewhere else for my rates,” he says, grinning with teeth. "We can carry this discussion outside."

“Uh, man,” the short fuck says, tugging on the other's arm. “We can, uh --”

"Shut up,” the first fuck says, then says, with a finger in Hank’s face and plenty of spittle, “you better fucking believe I'll be waiting," He storms off and drags his friend with him, the door slamming behind them.

Hank rubs the back of his neck, trying to decide if he wants to bother with a plain-clothes altercation or not. He looks at North. Her skin pigment has drained some from her face, leaving her slightly white at the cheeks. She looks at Hank, between furious and miserable.

She doesn't want a defender, but she's not sure what to do in this case. This is not an arena she's ready to travel, hardly a year past being free. So Hank holds out his hand to her, with the softest smile he's got in his repertoire.

"Care to join me, Nor?" he says. "You've got to make sure I'm not undercharging for my services, right?"

North's face drops with surprise. Then her face lights up like a neon sign on a Saturday night. She takes Hank's hand, squeezing it with her hidden android strength.

"I'll be sure to write them the receipt,” she says, and they grab their jackets and leave together like they’re going to the fucking prom.

The fight goes as expected. The men don't stand a chance and they're not going to be calling the cops, that's for sure. They were tweaking, for one -- Hank knows that Red Ice crazed look -- and they look like the type for outstanding warrants. Hank's a little busted up at the end, too: His nose isn't broken, but it's bloody, and he's got a split lip and good many bruises. It feels _great._ North has gathered similar injuries, a busted lip and a little dribble of blue blood down her face from one of the guy's rings at her temple, which she dabs with her jacket.

"Ohhh, it's been a while," Hank says, rolling his arm at the shoulder and spitting some blood from his mouth. "Hey, North, how bad I look?”

North looks at Hank, tilting her head. It's in that way androids do when they're thinking or processing. If she still had her LED he'd figure it'd be spinning yellow. It's always a little creepy but it's part of their communication and he knows when she's done thinking because her eyes squint and her mouth twitches in a shit-eating grin.

"Fuckable," she says, and shoves Hank into the alley.

His adrenaline’s still going so he shouts. North crowds him against one of the brick walls. Then climbs him. Like he's some kind of human tree trunk. She kisses him like she's going to devour him, her saliva salty and a little metallic from the Thirium. Hank is almost too startled to react to all this sudden stimulus. He has to do something, so he makes to hold her up first. North is one of those easy to handle 'droids, but there's some good weight to her, they're at a weird angle, and he hasn’t gained _that_ much muscle, so he has to lean back on the wall to keep her up. His hands dig reflexively into her ass and she makes an amazing noise in his mouth.

"You were so _hot_ ," North breathes, tugging Hank's hair from its half-tail. "Where’d you learn how to brawl?"

"Dark alleys and shitty bars just like this one, Nor," Hank says, bearing his teeth. North makes a frustrated noise that’s very human. "Where else?"

“I got another question for you,” North says, thumbing the blood on his upper lip, her eyes jittering slightly as they scan his face.

Hank’s heart triples its beat. “Aaand what’s that?”

“You ever fuck a girl in an alley, Anderson?” North asks.

Hank feels his whole body begin to catch up with the situation. He’s flushed from his groin to his neck now and he feels it. “Not since my well-spent youth."

“Then you’re going to get back into practice,” North says, and drags him from the opening of they alley to a place behind some wood stock crates, just enough to not be in any passerby’s line if vision. Unless they look really, _really_ close. And that’s pretty fucking exciting, too.

Hank knows the rules of fucking in public spaces, even if he hasn’t done it since his twenties. You leave most of your clothes on, for one, if you can that is. Sometimes you prop the receiver on something comfy if it's available. He puts his jacket down on a waist-level crate for North to settle on once she's kicked off her jeans.  Which she’s done quite efficiently, down to one boot with her pants crumpled down at the knee. She’s still got her panties on. When she hops up on his jacket --even in the hazy night light -- he can tell she’s wet.

“Oh, fuck,” Hank says. He looks at North and notices her optics are blown out. Her cheeks are just that special shade of blue-purple, breathing heavy to regulate her pump's temperature.

"Where do you want to start -- Hank?"

North does her tilt-buffering thing as Hank goes down on his knees in front of the crate.

“You’re not poisonous down here, are you?” Hank says, tapping her thigh to get her to raise it, dragging her underwear down the same leg her jeans are on. “You know. Maybe metal teeth? Anything that might kill a human?”

“No?” North looks baffled.

Hank nods seriously, like he's had a great revelation. "Got it.” Then he puts one hand to the small of her back and goes down between her legs.

Her legs bow at the knee with a little metallic click noise of surprise somewhere in her chest. “Anderson, what the -”

“Hum?” Hank looks up from his very pleasant position and moves away long enough to say, “Nor, you okay?”

North, mouth dropped open, and at a loss for words, just nods. Hank grins and returns to his work.

She tastes what he remembers women tasting like: nice and sharp, a kind of tartness that has the edge of inhuman chemicals. Not the _bad_ chemicals. His nose burrows into the well-manicured hair there and begins to work her clit with his tongue. North braces herself on the crate by slamming her palms into it, gasping.

 _Hasn’t happened to her much_ , Hank thinks, and it’s not something he wants to think about _too_ much. She’s a person, yeah, but there’s still her past, people forcing her into things. Something he can’t just let himself forget. He doesn’t need reciprocation. Even if he might need a trip to the bar bathroom to “clean up”. He'll tell her that after he's done eating her out.

North’s body jerks slightly, not in a programmed or planned away. She’s panting and he can see the heightened pulse of her regulator glowing through her shirt. He pushes a hand up her shirt while he works her sculpted sex with his mouth, getting it into the cup of her bra to tease her nipple. She jolts, covering her mouth with one hand to hide the noise of need behind it.

“Hank, ohhh, my God, _Hank._ ” Then she digs her free hand into his hair and all but smothers him shoving him as close as she can. She bucks against his mouth when he starts sucking on her synthetic folds, and then she shouts into her palm when she comes. Hank thinks he might die of suffocation as she bucks against him, but he manages to get a few gulps of air in when she begins to calm down.

“I’d like to get a little deeper for the next round,” Hank murmurs, breaking and licking some of her slick from his chin and beard, “but my hand’s fucking dirty.”

“I bet your cock is just fine,” North breathes. Her eyes are blown out almost black and he can see the little pinpricks of laser lights in them. It’s beautiful in its own way, interesting even if unsettles Hank a little.

And _that_ reminds him. “You sure about this?” he asks, standing up slowly. “You don’t have to. I'm good, North, seriously.”

“I _want_ to,” North says. Her jaw is set and stubborn and she looks like she might kill him if he doesn't do what she wants.

“Then you get the full treatment,” Hank says.

He pushes up her shirt over her breasts and pulls down her bra just enough to get a good hold on her breasts, getting down to business. If she thinks he’s going to just dive in, she’s wrong. He palms her stomach as he bites and licks one nipple, tweaking the other with real ferocity. He plays around the area of her regulator, the ridged skin. He figures all of her is more sensitive than most ‘droids, and he’ll play to his strengths.

All this, she likes. She whines with an edge, impatient, kicking at his leg.

“I’m going to kill you if you don’t start fucking me,” North swears. _There's_ the threat.

“Is that a promise?” Hank says, looking up at her with a full smirk. “Because I’ve seen you fight. I’ll like it.”

She smacks him on the forehead, only enough to knock him back. “Take off your jeans,” she orders. "Right now."

“Hold on a damn minute,” Hank says, and he wrestles with his belt briefly and the fly. It's a little difficult to get them down past his erection, but he does manage. He bats her hands away when she reaches for him there.

“Don’t,” he says, stern. It kind of takes them out of the moment, but it's important. “This is for _you._ ”

North frowns, calculates something, then huffs as she leans back, almost daring Hank to come closer now he's rebuffed her a little.

He does what she wants, though. He lifts up her ass and she spreads her legs. He slips into her, nice and slow and it is eye-crossingly magnificent. Hank moans and bows his head to her shoulder, rolling his hips. She grabs the back of his neck, gasping as he pushes all the way in.

“Yes, holy _shit_ ,” North says, groaning. “You’re _big_.”

“Man likes to hear that,” Hank grunts, smiling reflexively. He scoots her closer, pushing in to the very root, and her legs hook behind his back. The crates rock beneath them noisily as he _really_ goes for it, because North doesn’t want gentle.

He knows this because she's clawing at his back and leaving bruises. She’s also writhing, which feels good in more than one way. What Hank _really_ likes is the inhuman noises she’s letting herself make, not the ones programmed into her years ago. It makes him feel like he's doing the right _thing._ And because he's the consummate gentleman, he takes one hand away from her side, pulls the cuff up from his shirt, and then gets his covered fingers right down at her clit.

She comes again, and it's clear she hadn't expected to. She clenches Hank in and begins to grind against him with all her impressive strength.

Hank’s eyes boggle a little, and he clenches his hand against her back again to steady himself, bowing over her. “Shit, if you keep doing that, North, I’m going to come --”

“That’s the _point_ ,” North growls, bearing her teeth. “Do it, Anderson, fucking _do_ it!”

He can’t say no to a lady, he thinks distantly, and he’s charging forward with his climax, shouting into North’s shoulder. She comes again while he does this, her clenching insides just taking _everything_ from him, anticipating his erratic thrusts. Everything is slick, warm, and amazing and Hank shudders when he’s done, grappling at North’s back to try and stay afloat.

Hank can hear the pulse of her Thirium-powered heart in his ear, the pump going mad trying to bring down the stress she’s willingly put her body under. North breathes in large bellows of air, mouthing at Hank’s neck.

“That,” she says, “was fucking _amazing_ , Anderson.”

“Glaaad you think so,” Hank croaks, letting her kiss at his throat, though his body’s a little tired to enjoy anything more than how nice it is to be intimate. North has that subtle shift in body heat that marks her as noh-human, though she’s a little hotter right now than usual, and it feels good.

Hank finally pulls away and scratches his head once he gets his sea legs, considering the logistics of cleaning up this mess. His shirt maybe? Though he winces at the thought of showing up to some fancy-ass hotel lobby in a t-shirt.

He tries to tug his button-up off when North puts her booted foot on his chest to stop him. She’s done wiggling into her clothes again, showing no real signs of worry about the debauched state she was in moments ago.

“You’re okay then?” Hank asks.

“We can clean up somewhere else,” she says. She pats his chest when she stands up. “It’s cute how you’re worried.”

“Look, I don’t know much about -- your kind of model,” Hank mutters. He might as well say it. He pulls up his jeans and starts to button up his shirt for travel. “I mean, I’ve never even been with a --”

“I _know_ ,” North says. She puts a hand to the side of his neck, her eyes soft. “I know a lot about what you’ve done, Hank, and a lot about what you _haven’t_ done. You’ve never hated us. You just hate what we represented. Especially girls like me."

Hank, suddenly bashful, looks at his hands. And notices he has to roll the cuffs of his sleeves up a little because there’s a bit of biological evidence on it.

“Well, whatever, it’s just what decent people should've done all along," Hank mutters. “C’mon, let’s --”

North goes still. At first, Hank feels a vague rush of panic -- did those assholes come back with their friends? -- but she’s receiving a call, apparently.

“Yeah, we’re still out,” she says. Probably Markus.

At the same moment, Hank’s phone buzzes in his back jean pocket. It’s Connor. He steps away to let North focus.

“Connor,” he says. “Everything good?”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Connor says, in that wry little monotone way he still likes to use. “I believe we might be a little late, so you and North have a chance to entertain yourselves a little longer.”

“What do you mean, entertain ourselves a little longer?” Hank says, confused.

“You _do_ know I have a monitor on your vitals at all times, correct?” Connor asks. “Or is this your selective memory at play?”

He can just see that fucker’s charming little smirk.

“Oh my God, Markus, _what?_ ” North says, her hand at her right temple. “Connor did _what?_ ”

“Before you get mad, it’s a safety precaution, Lieutenant, nothing more,” Connor says. “You and Ms. North are very -- excitable people, and it's in your best interest that we keep tabs on you. Just in case."

Hank's trying to find something to say. In the background of Connor's call, he hears Markus losing his absolute shit laughing.

"I would suggest finding somewhere more comfortable for the time being. My GPS indicates --”

“Good _bye_ , Connor,” Hank snaps, shutting his phone. His face heats up like he’s sunburnt and he folds his arms like a petulant child. "Shit."

“Ohhh I hate them both,” North groans, putting a hand to her head. She fusses with her hair a little, drawing an exaggerated face when she realizes it's pretty far from salvageable, even if it was messy to begin with. "What the hell are we going to do now?"

“How about setting up boobytraps for those two smug fucks in our hotel rooms?" Hank says, plucking up both their jackets and putting his arm around North. “Or maybe just desecrating their beds?”

“You are one devious son-of-a-bitch, Hank Anderson,” North says, all smiles again. She gets up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

“I'm full of 'em. And you know, North," Hank says, patting North's shoulder as they head to the car, "I think this is the start of a seriously beautiful FWB."

“FWB?” North asks, nose wrinkling. She smacks his ass this time rather than up the side of his head. “Don’t make me Wiki it, Anderson.”

Hank grins at her, allowing himself a moment to be smug. “Yes _ma’am_.”


End file.
